


It Will Be Better

by angelheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Bullying, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Fear, Fire, Fist Fights, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Trauma, Trouble, Unhappy Dean, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheart/pseuds/angelheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Winchester returned from war in 1975, things changed. </p><p>Following a traumatic turn of events, Dean Winchester finds himself to have fallen into a dark pit of despair that has no sign of showing any light. Until one day, the sun comes out in the form of two blue eyes. But is it enough to make life better?</p><p>“You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel.” - Tabitha Suzuma, Forbidden</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Big Changes

**Author's Note:**

> I'll put a little note before each of the chapters just to make you aware of some of the things that might be triggering or uncomfortable for anyone! This fic is going to get kinda dark!  
> This Chapter:  
> *minor PTSD symptoms  
> *house fire  
> *minor character death  
> *alcohol used as a coping method

_1975 – age ten_

April 30th marked a significant day in Dean Winchester’s life. 

He woke that morning with a start. First by the shrill scream that sounded from downstairs, meddling with his dreams and confusing him. Had his sleepy subconscious mind been playing tricks on him? Or had someone really screamed? He wasn’t entirely sure.

As he was on the verges of drifting off once more, he heard his name being called suddenly from the bottom of the stairs. Footsteps starting to clamber up as fast as they could, which somehow reminded him of an early Christmas morning. Only, these steps did not belong to his brother and the holiday had long since passed. 

Goosebumps rose up on his arms at this realisation because maybe this was the beginnings of a nightmare instead. The anticipation of finding out if this was real or not was waking him up much faster than any morning alarm.

Dean sat up on his elbows, eyes open but bleary as he waited for his bedroom door to swing open and reveal perhaps some kind of axe murderer when instead he found his mother... Still in her pyjamas with yesterday's messy curls still draped over her shoulder. That did nothing for his now hammering heart. 

“Daddy’s coming home!” His mother exclaimed with a beam and tears in her eyes. 

Dean’s brain wasn’t quite connecting the links just yet. That must have been obvious because mom was repeating herself. “Daddy’s coming home! Wars over, Dean! He’s coming home!” She laughed, water trickling out of her eyes as she hurried to his bedside and gathered him up into a warm hug as she cried happily into his pyjama shirt. 

“Dad’s coming home?” Dean slurred, voice to full of sleep. It made his mother chuckle again.

“Yes, honey. He’s coming home.” 

When this information finally registered in Dean’s sleep heavy mind, he sucked in a breath and pulled back from his mother with wide eyes. “Really?” He asked, smile stretching on his lips when he saw there was no hint of a lie in her eyes. Dean reeled her in again and bounced gleefully on the bed. 

Dads coming home.

*

As luck would some how have it, dad would arrive back on Sam’s sixth birthday, which of course pleased Dean’s little brother more than anything. 

“I bet dad stopped the war himself.” Sam chimed with a smug sort of smile as he played with his little green soldiers the next night, while mom knitted and Dean sat next to him, pretending not to enjoy himself. 

“Why do you say that?” Dean scoffed in response.

“Because he had to come back for my birthday.” Sam said like it was obvious, lifting one of the little men and making him knock down the bad guy (that just happened to be a small blue teddy bear) that Dean was pretending to be. “He just couldn’t miss another one! Right, mommy?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Mary hummed with amusement and affection for her younger son. 

Dean reached over and ruffled his brothers’ hair with a laugh, glancing at his mother who smiled back and man, life really couldn’t get any better at this point.

The weather was great, mom was smiling, Sam was the smartest kid in his class and dad was coming home. Their family was finally back together. Dean was just brimming with excitement to see his dad and clutch him. Never let him go again. 

The years had been hard and slow since dad was enlisted in 1973. One day he said he had to go. Hours passed and Dean didn’t understand why he hadn't returned until mom explained that he wouldn’t. Not for a whole year.

Turned out they’d liked him so much out there in Vietnam, they’d kept him another year on top of that. Dad had been fine with that arrangement initially but he’d always complained in his letters that it was way too hot, and when it rained, _it friggin’ rained!_ though he still remained Dean's typical dad and ended his letters with _'I miss you'_ and _'Dean, look after your mom and brother for me!'_

But as time went on, dads’ letters became sparser. They suddenly weren’t suitable for Dean’s prying eyes anymore as he tried to read over her moms arm, dance around her feet until she’d tell him to go to his room. Later she’d tell him dad had had a bad day. His friends were dying. He was homesick. He was always hungry and sore. Mom always felt so helpless. She cried herself to sleep most nights for the better part of a year. 

Until yesterday morning. Dad was coming home. 

*

They’d all waited in the hall for dad to walk in through the door, all buzzing with excitement and maybe some nerves. Would he look different? Would he be happy? Dean’s most important concern was if he’d bring his gun or not. 

It was a nice day out. Not one of the nicest days spring had offered them thus far, but he figured dad would be kinda happy about that. He’d spent so long in Vietnam, maybe he’d hoped it’d be chilly when he stepped off the plane. Dean hoped anyway. 

Dean was just determined for this to be perfect. He had visions of them hugging and confessing how much they’d missed each other and dad would spin him around like he’d used too. Then he’d sit them down and tell them cool stories about him and his brave friends as they fought for their country in a foreign land. 

Finally, the moment they’d been waiting for arrived. Sam stopped jumping up and down the steps on the stairs and fell into his mother’s lap, big eyes stuck on the door. Dean froze and straightened up, taking his hands out of his pockets and placing them behind his back, chest filling out because he needed his dad to walk in and say _‘look at my boy.’_ He needed his dad to be proud. Suddenly that was very important to him. 

His dad was the bravest man he knew. If he could receive his fathers’ approval today, he figured he didn’t need anything else in life.

The big green army truck that had stopped outside, and could be partially seen from the living room, spluttered off again as the front door clicked open. Everyone seemed to hold their breath simultaneously as the door handle turned. 

Dad was home. 

Mary stood, hoisting Sam up on her hip as she did, her lips parted with impatience. 

And just like that, dad was over the threshold and setting his bags down. The other Winchesters didn’t spare a second in fleeing to him after that. 

Mary was the first to make it over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she started to cry again, Sam hugging their father where he could. Dad was smiling and much tanner now than he had been when he left. He had a lot more scars now too – but Dean couldn’t really tell. There was no room for him yet. 

He bounced impatiently behind his mother, trying to get into the big family hug and when he finally did, his face lit up with joy as he wrapped his arms around his dads middle and sucked in that smell of security he’d missed for so long.

“Alright, Dean – c’mon, you’re a big boy. Less of that.” Dad huffed a laugh and Dean’s arms were being pried away, even though he wasn’t ready to stop yet. But he was too happy to complain. 

Dad was home.

It was a feeling in itself. He just couldn’t describe it. Dean was just all mixed up on nerves and excitement and after waiting for so long to have his dad come home…Well, no other feeling compared to how good that felt. 

* 

Dad was kind of different now though, but Dean would never express that thought out loud. Dad was a hero. He could behave anyway he wanted to behave. 

They’d sat around the table for dinner one night, Mary and John conversing quietly while Sam shoved his mouthful of the great chicken dinner his mom had prepared them. Dean watched them, holding his fork loaded with potatoes in his hand. He had so much he wanted to ask his dad. So much, in fact, he couldn’t even distract himself with food. 

“Dad, did you bring your gun home?” He asked with a smile, but was surprised when he received no answer. Dad was still busy talking to mom. “Dad! Did you? Did you bring it home?” He asked, but now he was wondering if dad could actually hear him or not when again he wasn't acknowledged. 

“John, Dean’s asking you something.” Mary chuckled, placing her fingers in her husbands’ hand, looking at her son with a smile of encouragement. 

John looked down the table, raising his chin as though to silently ask Dean to repeat himself. 

“Did you bring your gun home?” Dean asked for a third time, smile not so wide but still curled at the corners of his lips.

“I had no need to bring it home – besides, it doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the military.” John said simply, about to continue eating but Dean was so far from done.

“Did you shoot anyone?” Dean asked with raised eyebrows, curiosity that only a ten year old could portray written on his face but that fell almost right away because dad had stopped answering him again and shifted his gaze to his plate. 

Dean looked at Mary, only to receive a concerned expression in return. “Dean, honey, daddy doesn’t want to answer questions like that.” She said, voice almost a whisper. Dean blinked, feeling suddenly very confused and sorry. He didn’t mean to upset dad. 

“That’s alright, son.” John cleared his throat, neither giving his son a yes or a no. 

Dean wasn’t sure but something was definitely different. 

Dad had changed. 

*

In days gone by, before the war, before dad left their peaceful little suburb in the heart of Lawrence, Kansas, life had been one big apple pie. 

Most summer days when school got out, Dad would take Dean and Sam out into the yard on a nice afternoon and throw around a football with them. They’d play in the sun while mom maybe done some gardening. They'd come inside, warm from the sun, skin still buzzing with energy, to a nice big dinner that’d leave them all full to the brim, stuffed beyond the capacity of their stomachs. 

Sam would dose off on mom’s knee while she hummed to him quietly. Dean and dad would watch _Gunsmoke_ on the TV, or dad would read him one of the chapters from _Treasure Island_ because his dad had read that to him when he was a kid just before he went to bed. Dad would tuck him in when he got too tired to keep his eyes open and kiss his head and tell him he loved him. 

Dean had hoped they could pick up where they left off. But now the only time dad seemed to speak to Dean was to tell him to straighten up, or to scold him for being too loud when in reality he was just on the constant edge of excitement now that his dad had come home. He wanted to talk to his dad like they used too. Joke around and laugh together. 

Now anytime Dean approached with the football, dad would tell him to run along. He was almost always too tired or involved with his newspaper that was marked up with red felt pen, circling ads in the paper that mom had later explained was dad trying to get some work.

But aside from dad being stricter now, something else was new. Where before, dad would sit down with a big mug of Joe or a glass of milk before bed, he was now drinking this stuff that vaguely looked like coca cola. 

The new drink was left abandoned on the coffee table one night while dad and mom had gone into the kitchen to talk about something Dean was unsure off. He stepped towards the brownish coloured liquid, looking over his shoulder in case someone was watching. He felt as though he might get in trouble for even just looking at the stuff. 

However, if that was soda, he’d be very surprised because dad didn’t allow them to have that anymore. But the curiosity was killing him. He reached to take a sip after all his stalling and looking over his shoulder, putting the glass to his lips and almost taking a coughing fit when the strong tasting liquid surrounded his tongue and seemed to melt into it. “Gross!” He exclaimed having expected the fresh pop of bubbles to explode in his mouth but this stuff tasting burny and strong. He stuck his tongue out, face all contorted in disgust. Perhaps this soda had gone severely off or something.

Of course, mom had heard and came running. Dean dropped the glass to the floor, making a face as he tried to get rid of the taste in his mouth. “Dean!” She exclaimed, but Dean hadn’t realised he’d been in this much trouble until Dad came in with a face like thunder. 

Dean’s face dropped as he sucked in a breath suddenly being yanked forward by his wrist and trailed up the stairs. “I-I’m sorry – I didn’t know! I thought it was soda! I-I’m sorry, dad, I’m sorry-” He rushed to explain himself all the way up the stairs. Dean had never seen his dad this mad before. 

“Don’t touch what isn’t yours, understand me, boy?” John roared when he gave Dean a shove into his bedroom. Dean’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded vigorously, so sorry he’d upset his dad again when all he wanted was to be more like him. “Go to bed. No dinner.”

“Okay, dad-” Dean’s breath hitched as he tried to hold in a sob, guilt and regret filling him all up and trying to escape out of his eyes.

“ _Sir_.”

“Yes, sir.” 

*

Mom and dad started fighting a lot after that. Mom thought dad was too hard on Dean. She thought he was trying to make him into Johns personal perfect little solider. 

But mom also thought that dad wasn’t very well. Dad begged to differ. He said he was just seeing the world for how it was now. He was just trying to protect Dean. He’d do the same for Sam. 

Mom didn’t like that idea very much at all. 

The brown stuff, Dean later learned, was whiskey. He’d read it on the big bottle of Jack Daniels on the kitchen counter one night. He thought that sort of thing belonged in the saloon in one of those cowboy movies he and dad used to like watching. But Jack and others became a much more frequented beverage in their home. Dean didn’t get how dad could drink something so disgusting so often. 

“Dean, can you bring me my bottle and a glass, son?” John would ask from in front of the television in his bathrobe, the light of the box casting a dull, greyish glow over his fathers’ features that seemed to age him dramatically. Dean didn’t remember his dad looking so old before. 

But most nights, John would go out now. He’d go out and not come home until the small hours of the now fall mornings. Mom was trying her best but soon Dean had started to hear her cry herself to sleep like she’d used to when dad was gone. 

*

November 2nd marked another significant day in Dean Winchesters life. 

Dad was out again – had been out from around five pm. Mom was tucking Sammy into bed while Dean sat in his bedroom with a slice of toast and his dad's old copy of Treasure Island, legs crossed underneath him. 

“Honey? Will you blow the candle out in the hall?” Mom had called from Sam’s room, interrupting his imagination as it flew along with the heroic young boy on the search for treasure, fighting with pirates along the way. Dean wished he’d look up from his book and find himself in an old cabin, rocking with the force of the waves as they crashed against the boat. 

He lay back and shut his eyes with a sigh, thinking about what he’d do with all that loot. What he’d do with a treasure chest filled to bursting point with gold and precious stones. Maybe he’d find someone smart enough to take him back in time. Maybe he’d find someone with a cure to return his father to his previous state. 

With thoughts like those, Dean had drifted off, book splayed over his stomach.

When he woke again, for a moment he’d believed his wish had come true. His mom was shaking him awake, hands clasped so tight around his arms that the pain was rousing Dean to consciousness abruptly.

“Dean!” Mom exclaimed, holding his chin up as he went to loll his head back tiredly, not sure why he was being woken from his sleep until he caught glimpse of something orange flickering over moms shoulder. His eyes drifted up and found dense, thick smoke clouding around the ceiling like a huge python ready to curl down into their lungs and constrict the life out of them.

Dean woke up then.

“It’s okay, sweetie – it’s okay!” Mom said, and now Dean was noticing Sam clinging to her back, eyes wide and terrified. Dean nodded nerves bouncing him out of bed, curling his hand in hers as she guided them out of Dean’s room hastily.

But the landing was where the true danger was, and that was extremely apparent now. That so called orange flicker actually happened to be the beginnings of a full blown fire, the likes of which Dean had never seen before. 

Mom was turning to tell Sam to smell her hair, while simultaneously bringing her hand over Dean’s mouth and nose so they couldn’t inhale the poisonous smoke just so badly.

“Where’s dad?” Dean had to shout to be heard of the tremendous roar of the fire, looking at mom for a second but his eyes where stuck on the light producing a vast amount of heat that had caught by the far wall, stretching up the curtains and walls, ebbing and burning into the wooden frame of the house and making the ground below it and the ceiling above scream and crackle. It was moving fast. 

It was then he noticed that this was happening right next to the staircase. 

His eyes widened as fear settled on him, squeezing his mothers hand tightly. She leaned down to face him, running her hand over his shoulders, her big eyes burning into his almost more brightly than the glow of the flame.

“We’re gonna go out the bathroom window, okay?” She said loudly, trying to get Dean to focus on her and not the hissing of the flames itching to get closer to them. 

He nodded because he trusted his mom, though he knew there was nothing between the bathroom window and the ground. 

He also knew by how hot the wooden floor felt and that it may not hold their weight for much longer. Or perhaps the ceiling would be the first to go and send them all crashing down to the ground floor. His mind was racing and the next thing he knew, Sam was being thrust into his arms, the three of them rushing to the bathroom.

But as it turned out, the floor was the first thing to give way. Dean gasped and held onto Sam as he felt a shove at his back, pushing them into the bathroom. When he turned he found his mother stuck between landing and ground floor. She whimpered and tried to pull herself up, bringing her arm that was dangling below back into view. Dean’s eyes went wide at the blood pouring out of it. She had obviously been slashed by the jagged wood on the way down. 

“Mom!” He set Sam down and ran to her, putting his hands under her arms to try and pull her up but she was too heavy. It was now that he was close with her again that he looked through the hole and seen the same dancing of flames downstairs. The house must have been on fire for quite some time before mom must have noticed. It was lucky she did, Dean thought. 

“Dean-”

“Mom…Mom…I don’t know what to do – I can’t lift you!” He shouted, though it came out scratchy and broken with fear. 

“Dean, you get in that bathroom and stay there!” Mary ordered, letting out another wince as she tried to pull herself up, but all efforts were futile with her torn up arm. 

“Can’t – can’t leave you…Can’t leave you.” Dean shook his head, still trying to pull her up but there was nothing much he could do.

“I’ll be okay, I promise – you get Sammy out that window now! Use the towels, honey, tie them together…It won’t get you all the way down but…” She had to stop, pain in her arm and the strain of using it taking her breath away. “But it’ll help some – I’ll be right here.” 

“Mom-”

“Now, Dean!” She exclaimed, making Dean leap to attention and go do as he was told like it was taking the trash out or washing the dishes. 

But now Dean could hear the distance ringing of the fire brigade. He breathed in relief and told Sam to listen. Focus on the noise. They were going to be alright. 

Dean pulled all of the towels out of the storage closet in the bathroom, telling his weeping brother to go stand by the window and breath in the fresh air, while he started knotting them all together the best he could. 

“Good boy, Dean. You’re a good boy.” Mary called from the landing, further reassuring Dean that this was going to be okay. 

“Are you alright, mom?”

“Yes, honey. I’m alright.” Mary said, though her voice didn’t seem so peaked as before. She sounded more deflated now. 

The fire had spread into the edges of the bathroom now, stalled by the tiles but still doing it’s best to get in. Dean could still hear her coughs from where she was stuck in the floor, focusing on them and reminding himself that this was all going to be alright. 

But soon he had all the towels in his possession tied and his eyes were stuck now on the door, waiting for his mom to tell him what to do next. 

All he heard then was a loud crack and a thump.

“Mom?” He called out, but he wasn’t answered. "Mom? What do I do now?!" His already pounding heart was threatening to burst free from his chest. “Mom! Mommy!” He yelled, going to surge forward before a big, foreign hand caught his arm. He turned to look into the monstrous face of a man in a bright yellow mask, and yellow aluminous suit. 

“Stay calm, we’re here to help-”

“My mom! My mom – please, I have to get her! Please!” Dean exclaimed, but the hand on his shoulder was now around his middle as he was removed forcefully from the burning bathroom. He could feel the cool air of the night on his back as he was passed out the window and into someone else’s arms. “Please – please get her.” He begged and pleaded to the man who had taken him before. 

He didn’t receive an answer. 

Dean was taken down the latter one step at a time, though his eyes were stuck on the window for signs of his mother. 

She never appeared.

*

Sometime later, when he and Sam were out sitting in the back of an ambulance, they brought her out the front door. 

The house was still on fire for the most part, but one side with bellowing out clouds upon clouds of thick black smoke from where the firemen had been putting it out.

They’d rushed her into the back of an ambulance and shut the doors behind them when Dean ran over, pulling Sam along behind him, their sliver foil blankets wrapped tight around their shoulders.

Dad arrived not so long after and Dean had never seen a man as big and tough as his dad so distraught.

They spent the night in the hospital being treated for smoke inhalation and a small burn mark on Dean’s arm he wasn’t even aware he’d received.

“Can I go see mom now?” He asked his day the next day, sucking his orange juice from a straw from his scratchy hospital bed. 

But dad just frowned, shaking his head. “No, son.” He said quietly.

“Is she still sleeping?” Dean asked, remembering one of the nurses had told him that the night before.

“She’s dead.” John mouthed and dropped his head, covering his face with his hands. 

This was a feeling similar to that of when dad came home from Vietnam six months ago. That overwhelming sense of joy he couldn’t describe - it was a feeling on it’s own?

This was equally indescribable, only in a vastly more unimaginable, painful way.

The prospects of dad coming home had always kept Dean going.

Mom was never coming home.


	2. Chance Boys School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Mentions of alcohol as a coping method  
> \- some bullying towards the end

The first month after mom died had been the worst. 

Dad had to move them into a motel for a while. It was just down the road, but Dean had never felt more homesick in his life. 

Sam kept asking when mom was going to come home from hospital. But when dad just shook his head and told Dean to lock the latch after he left, he realised that was a queue for him to break the news to his little brother.

Dean hadn’t quite gotten over the shock himself yet. In fact, most nights he woke up with _‘mom’_ on the tip of his tongue after he’d had a nightmare. Then he was harshly reminded that mom wasn’t just down the hall anymore. 

The nightmares were bad. Sometimes they’d start off as regular dreams and sunny walks in the park, but they’d all end in horror and roasting heat and his mother falling through the crack in the floor as their house was eaten by the monstrous fire. 

But this was one of those moments Dean knew he’d remember for the rest of his life. He’d locked the door behind his father and turned to face his brother, whose eyes were as big and expectant as usual. 

“Mom’s-” He started but he just couldn’t break the news the way dad had to him. “Mom’s-” He tried again with the hopes that _‘she’s gone to heaven’_ would come out instead. But Dean’s voice broke and his lip trembled. He ducked his head because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be the one to break his brother’s heart.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked shakily, eyes watery, because it was plain to see Dean was breaking down and Sam had always known his big brother to be the bravest and strongest boy he knew. Dean was trying so hard to live up to that. 

“…Yeah, she is now.” Dean shrugged, biting down on his lower lip before he sucked in a breath and went to make his way towards the kitchenette. He had no idea how to use anything other than the microwave. Mom always did the cooking. 

“So…She’s coming home?” Sam asked hopefully.

“No, Sammy.” Dean murmured, taking out the ready meals for him and his brother as a tear rolled out of his eye. “She’s not.” He wiped it away quickly, trying desperately to hold down the sob sitting heavy in his throat. “D-do you want lasagne or fish?” He asked, voice scratchy, as he turned back around.

Both meals ended up on the floor as his brother ran into him.

*

A lot of people wanted to speak to Dean after mom died.

Dad took them down to the police station one day in their Sunday finest because no children of John Winchester’s would be meeting officials without being immaculately dressed.

Regardless if their mother had just passed or not.

Dean felt tight in his nice brown shirt that mom had picked him out one day when they were at the store. He remembered she’d smiled all big and proud and told him she’d never seen anything so nice on him. It was just a shirt. But mom had a way of making every thing he did or wore sound like the greatest thing on earth.

Dean missed her terribly. 

They sat in the waiting room for the longest time, all huddled up beside the radiator. It was freezing out now but Dean stayed at the opposite side of the bench. He didn’t like the way the heat clouded his face. He didn’t like the way it was making him feel like he was suffocating.

Finally, the man that wanted to speak to him appeared from one of the rooms. Officer Henriksen, he called himself as he put out a hand for Dean to shake. 

“I’m very sorry about your loss.” He said to dad as Dean shook his hand weakly before he moved along to take his father’s. 

They talked for a long moment before he turned back to Dean. 

“So, are you gonna be a brave boy and come and tell me what happened to your mom?” He asked, setting his hands on his hips. Dean froze up all at once, glancing over at his father for help or reassurance or something.

“Go on, son. Go tell him what you remember.” He said, nudging Dean’s shoulder before giving him a clap on the back. Dean swallowed and looked up at Officer Henriksen before going to follow behind him, ringing his hands out nervously.

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like talking about what had happened. But he guessed they had to know, right? They had to know about the horrible fire that had taken his mothers life. Dean was the only one who could tell the story like it had happened.

The next thing he knew he was in a seat. The room was dimly lit and deadly quiet. It made Dean’s nerves swell up from his stomach to his throat, a small sort of sound passing his lips.

“S’okay, don’t be afraid.” Officer Henrikson said. “You’re not in any trouble.” Dean knew that, of course. But how could anyone understand how he was feeling? “So, why don’t we start from the beginning, hm?” He asked, taking a seat in front of him, pulling out a note pad and pen. “D’you know how the fire could’ve started?”

Dean blinked, swallowing down thickly. Suddenly he didn’t know anything. His mind had gone to jelly. He shifted in his chair and tried to speak but the words weren’t coming.

“Dean?” Officer Henriksen pressed, trying too hard to be approachable. It was clear to see he wasn’t very good at working with kids. Even Dean could tell that. “How did the fire start?...Did anyone dislike your mom for any reason?”

Dean frowned. He was trying so hard to speak. To tell them he wasn’t sure and that, no, everyone liked mom but – but maybe he did know. 

It was all coming back to him very suddenly, punching the air out of his chest. 

_“Honey? Will you blow the candle out in the hall?”_ Rang in his head, the memory flashing before his eyes. He could feel the blood draining from his face-

“Dean? Are you paying attention?” Officer Henriksen asked, eyebrows raised in question. 

Dean’s heart was pounding against his ribcage. It was his fault. It was his fault mom was dead. He hadn’t blown out the candle. He must have been breathing loud because very soon Officer Henriksen was out of his seat and crouching down next to him, trying to get him to focus. To breathe.

Dean just couldn’t. It was his fault. 

“Alright, alright. You don’t have to answer, okay? Hey, you want some OJ? Pretty sure we have some of that – maybe…Will someone get the kid a drink-!” He barked, but it was doing nothing for the way Dean was shaking. “You want your dad? Hm? Will we get dad in here?”

Dean nodded, fingers curling tightly around the seat of the chair, knuckles turning white.

He wasn’t sure when dad got there but soon enough he appeared in the room too, Sam balanced on his hip a little awkwardly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, bending down next to Dean as a glass of orange juice was left on the table in front of him. 

“Ca-can’t – can’t.” Dean shook his head, tears starting to escape his eyes again. John didn’t look very happy with that answer.

“You can’t?” He repeated. “Son, your mother would want you to tell these officers what happened to her. She’d want you to make this right.”

What was there to make right? Mom was dead. Things would never be right again.

“Dad, I-I don’t want too…” He whispered, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as his breaths started getting caught in his throat. 

There seemed to be some conferring between dad and Officer Henriksen after that but Dean wasn’t listening. Sam smiled at him, not really understanding what was happening. He was only six, after all. 

Dean tried to force a wobbly smile in return, but suddenly his name was being called again. This time by his dad.

“D’you know how the fire started, Dean?” 

Dean hesitated but he had to answer his father. “…Yes.” He whispered.

“How?” He pressed, eyes boring two holes into Dean’s. “Tell me, Dean. Did someone do this on purpose?”

With all the stress and panic, Dean felt himself starting to float. His stomach clenched up with a sickness he couldn’t quite place and as he tried to stand, to flee the confines of this room where the walls were closing in, his legs gave out and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. 

*

Dad wasn’t very happy with Dean these days. 

He got mad easily and he nit-picked and he’d huff and puff but Dean knew it was all just because he missed mom. They all missed mom.

Jack Daniels and company became as much a family member to the Winchester’s now as anything else. It was always present. Always on the kitchenette counter waiting for dad to come home and coddle it.

That’s when dad did come home, of course. He was out an awful lot now. 

Dean was trying his very best to look after Sam like dad had asked. Make the meals that were left in the fridge - But Sam didn’t really like those, so Dean was having to force feed him cereal. 

This wasn’t going to work, and each day, Dean filled up more and more with guilt and sadness and heartache over the loss of his mother. Even as a child he was starting to question if he could take much more of this.

What really tipped him over the edge was when Sam had come to rouse him from what little sleep he got with a big smile on his face.

“Dean! It’s Christmas! Wake up!” He exclaimed happily. Dean was struck with yet another round of guilt because he’d completely forgotten. 

Yeah, Sam had been mentioning a Christmas tree and pointing at various ads on the television saying he’d like this and that but it never really registered. Not until now that his brother was looking at him expectantly again. 

“Right…Happy Christmas, Sammy.” Dean said quietly, sitting up with a frown. Maybe Santa – of course, they had no tree. Or a chimney. And he probably didn’t even know where they lived now and…Santa wasn’t real, was he? 

Dean’s head fell to the ground at this realisation because any shred of childhood hope he had left had all but vanished completely. There was nothing good in this world. 

“We, uh – Santa probably left our presents at our old house, Sammy.” Dean explained carefully, looking away when his brother’s face screwed up and his eyes started brimming with tears. “Actually, maybe he left them with dad instead.” He changed his tune quickly, not wanting to upset his brother on a day where he was supposed to be happy. Though Dean wasn’t sure he could be happy, even if he tried.

This seemed to sate Sam but he still seemed down. Dean set him up in front of the TV box, comforter wrapped around his legs as he went to pour yet another bowl of cereal. He was so sick and tired of cereal. 

Where was dad? He needed dad back. They were running out of food and they had no money. What were they supposed to eat?

*

Dad didn’t return home for another two days and Dean was fuelled with so much rage and anger and frustration that his cheeks were roaring red. 

The second he walked in through the door, Dean’s back tensed up, jaw clenching as he turned. He at least prayed dad had brought some presents for Sam, but his hands were empty – except for a plastic bag filled with booze. That tore it. 

Dean lifted the plate of the counter and threw it hard on the ground, lifting whatever else he could after that in shaky hands, throwing to hear the crash and break as they hit the walls, the door and the floor. 

Sam started to cry.

“Dean!” John barked.

“Where have you been?!” Dean yelled back, stopping for just a second, chest heaving with anger. “Where were you, dad?”

“That’s none of your concern-”

Dean had run out of plates so he began emptying the cutlery drawer, pulling the drawer out and throwing it at the drop-leaf table in his fury. But he didn’t get to do much more because the next thing he knew, dad had his arms and was pulling him towards the couch and sitting him down.

“Hey-”

“No – no, let me go, leave me alone-” Dean’s breath hitched as he cried, tears soaking his cheeks and neck. 

“What has gotten into you, huh?” John asked, brow furrowed in confusion and maybe concern. Dean was too upset to be sure.

But what had gotten into him? He broke at that.

“I want mom!” He cried, head dropping to his dad’s shoulder as he sobbed, body quaking with the stress a ten year old shouldn’t be carrying. “…S’my fault-”

John pulled Dean back up. “What is?”

“The fire…” Dean’s voice shook as he spoke, more tears falling from his eyes. “She-she told me to blow out the candle and I didn’t!” 

John stilled, face falling as he stared at Dean who was now trying desperately to come around again. He didn’t like the way Sammy was crying because he’d scared him. He was supposed to be oblivious to the bad things in the world. 

“S-sorry, Sammy…Y-you want Lucky Charms? Think we have some-” Dean hiccupped, trying to get up off the couch even though Sam didn’t answer. He was sitting on the arm of the chair with huge watery puppy dogs and Dean was sorry he’d upset his little brother.

But dad didn’t let him get up.

“Dean?” He said firmly. “Don’t you dare use your mother’s death as an excuse to behave this way again, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean whispered, dropping his head solemnly. 

*

The New Year, Dean’s eleventh birthday, Easter and summer came and went and the next thing Dean knew he was in the car with dad and Sam. 

Dad had enrolled them at a school way out in the countryside, where there was nothing but fields and huge trees for miles. Dean wondered how dad was supposed to come and collect them every day before he realised that wasn’t going to be the case. They were going to this school and staying there.

Dean’s temper was stowed for the longest time after his last lash out at Christmas time. He was supposed to be looking after Sam and how was that supposed to make him feel? Someone was going to have to be strong in all of this. 

So dad dropped them off and crouched down in front of Sam, making sure his little school bag straps were tucked over his shoulders and his suitcase was resting neatly beside him.

Dean’s eyes veered upwards, taking in the grand outside of the building and wondering where the hell dad could have gotten the money for a place like this – or if it even cost anything at all. He had been going on and on to some guy on the phone lately, seemingly refusing help or financial aide or something. Looked as though he’d given in, though because here they were with their suitcases. 

Dad came to say goodbye to him next, patting Dean’s arm before setting his hands back on his hips. “You be good, okay? You look out for your brother as well.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded, glancing over at his brother who was trying to haul his suitcase inside over the uneven beige coloured gravel of the driveway. The case was light. They didn’t have all that many clothes, but Dean’s heart was breaking all over again. 

“Alright, well I’ll see ya.” John nodded, lingering for just a second as though he was thinking about hugging him. But of course he didn’t. 

Dean picked up his own suitcase and followed Sam inside, taking his bag off him as well. They were met with their retrospective guides immediately. Sam was greeted by a woman with brown hair and kind eyes and a friendly smile. She came down to his level to speak with him and instantly Sam’s face lit up like a beacon. Dean was so glad.

Dean’s guide was an older man, wearing an old baseball cap, which seemed kind of misplaced in a building like this. He held a clip board, looking him over and checking off a couple of boxes that Dean seemed to fill. “Okay, Winchester, come this way. You’ll be staying in Dorm C. Your timetable and school uniform’ll be on your bed.”

Dean nodded, and went to look over his shoulder at Sam but he was already walking away with his guide, his little hand in hers as they disappeared down the hall. 

*

The dorm was exactly the way a dorm should be.

Immaculate rows of steel bed frames and a chest at the end of each, presumably to keep clothes in. Dean was lead to his bed, right to the end of the room beside the big window that looked onto the pitch. 

The man clasped his hands together and rocked on his toes lightly, sort of awkwardly, as Dean glanced around the small space that was now his. 

“Your dad’s been a friend of mine for a while.”

“Oh?” Dean responded quietly, stealing a glance at the man. Perhaps he’d been the one on the phone.

“Mmhm. Thought this might be a…Well, an escape for you boys.”

Dean didn’t reply, he just looked back at the sorry looking bed. 

“I’m Bobby, and this is Chance Boys School.” He said, fixing his cap so it sat a little more straight. Dean half smiled, going to set his bag down. “My room’s at the end of the hall if ya ever need anythin’ – don’t actually do any of the teachin’ here.”

“Okay, thanks Bobby.” Dean shrugged, hoping he’d take his queue and leave Dean be on his own for a while. Thankfully he did.

He sat on the edge of his bed and didn’t lift his head to look out the window. He didn’t really care what was out there. He didn’t really care what was in here. He just started down at his hands for a long moment. A few months ago he’d been at home with his parents. He’d been in his own room, with his book and his things. Sam was lucky he was young. He didn’t understand like Dean did. 

But Dean wasn’t alone with his thoughts and the circling silence for long. One by one, the room started to fill up with boys carrying their own suitcases. 

There was a lot of excitement and noise in the room as more and more boys came in. Friends seeing friends after a summer apart; some were jumping from one bed to the next, racing each other to the wall and back. Some were huddling on the one bed with an intense looking card game, Dean had to crane his neck to get a look at. Others were already getting yelled at by Bobby, suddenly crashing into the room all breathless and devious smiles. 

It made the corners of Dean’s lips curl a little, but all too soon he was reminded that all these boys were already friends. Dean was a new comer. He climbed up on his bed to sit on the pillow, finally lifting his head to look out the window so he didn’t look so lame sitting on his own, watching others with bated hope. 

But then a voice sounded next to him, making him startle back to reality. 

“Are you new?” The boy asked, blinking wide and curious eyes. 

“Yeah.” Dean shrugged, trying to seem cool about it, though his nerves were almost eating him alive. 

The other boy smiled a little and dropped down on the bed next to Dean’s, kicking his legs as though in thought about what to say next. 

“Are you?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow, suddenly filling with the hope that he was but the boy shook his head and burst that bubble pretty much immediately. “Oh.”

“I’ve been here since first grade.” He nodded plainly. Dean furrowed his brow, wondering how he would have fared as a first grader coming to a place like this, completely alone. 

“Huh.” 

“What’s your name-” The boy started before a pillow hit the back of his bed and cut his words off. 

“Don’t worry, new boy, we’ll save you from the curse of Castiel.” The biggest said, smirking at the boy he’d called Castiel. 

“It’s not a curse!” Castiel frowned, dropping his gaze at once.

“It is – Listen to this,” A boy was suddenly sitting right next to Dean, arm around his shoulder as he started into a dramatic tale Dean might have enjoyed had it not been at the other boys expense. “Once upon a time, there was boy with no friends.” He started with a mock of a frown, and Castiel – presumably the boy with no friends – looked up pleadingly, ringing his fingers together. “Never had a friend, could never get a friend – could barely talk to someone without freaking them out after ten minutes.” 

The boy continued and Dean could feel his face screwing up. He didn’t think he liked this boy. “So, years go by, and the boy with the big blue eyes haunts the corridors every night, still looking for a friend-”

“I’m not a ghost, Gordon-” 

“Oh my god, did you guys hear that? Sounded like something spoke!” Another of the boys exclaimed. Dean could have sworn he’d noticed a slight tremble in Castiel’s bottom lip.

He shrugged the boy, Gordon’s, arm off his shoulders and went to stand. “Y’know, that’s not very nice.”

“Aw.” Another of the boys cooed, pouting his lips. “Look at that Castiel, could it be? A real friend? Perhaps the curse is broken-”

“Don’t you guys have anything better to do?” Dean cut him off, jaw clenched with anger. 

“Plenty. Just you wait until we _actually_ get bored.” Gordon stood then, brushing past Dean hurriedly with intent on knocking into him. For a second, Dean thought he'd actually been successful in being threatening. “We’ll let you two little lovebirds be then. Get to know each other - but you'll find out about the curse soon enough.” 

He watched unsurely, but it became clear as to why the boys were now leaving. Bobby was standing at the door, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed like he knew what they were up too. Dean wished he could be that scary.

But great. First day and Dean was already an outcast here as well – but he pulled his lips into a tight, wry sort of smile and waved obnoxiously as they left before his sights turned back to Castiel who looked more worse for wear than anything. He had his knit sweater balled around his fists, chewing nervously at his bottom lip.

“You alright?” 

Castiel smiled a little, not making eye contact as he lay back on his pillow, sniffing a little. 

“...So, your name’s Castiel?” Dean asked, sensing the boy was about to cry or something and Dean really didn’t feel like dealing with that right now. He just wanted to settle down and get used to his new environment.

Castiel nodded, curling his hand under his pillow and closing his eyes, bottom lip quivering as though he was willing the tears back. 

“My name’s Dean.” Dean tried again, sitting back down on his bed, crossing his legs underneath him as he scratched his head. He had to put his own feelings aside. “Hey…D’you like cars?” 

At that, Castiel opened his eyes again and shrugged with a small nod. 

That’s how Dean ended up talking until dinner time about a certain 1967 Chevy Impala.


End file.
